


Dream or Reality

by DustyP



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/DustyP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short angsty piece.<br/>First of two stories</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream or Reality

Blair Sandburg took a deep breath of the fresh air, and lifted his face to the rays of the sun filtering through the tree branches. His eyes squinted against the bright blue of the sky, and he raised a hand to shade his eyes.

Sighing contentedly, he shifted back against the solid trunk of the tree he was sitting under; it's shady leaves and branches a green canopy overhead.

This was nice, more than nice.

It couldn't get much better; he had a job he loved, his students were on the bright side, and some of them were actually enthusiastic about anthropology, and  
seemed to love his lectures.

Here he was, sitting on the grassy lawns surrounding the university, eating a quiet lunch and having time to read.  In thirty minutes, he would have to go back inside to take his two-o-clock class, but right now, his time was his own.

He picked up his book, another interesting issue by Burton on sentinels, the age-old guardians of tribal lore, and turned to a drawing, his favourite among the half dozen in the book.  
  
It showed two men standing on a large flat rock, surrounded by short, leafy bushes. One of the men was tall, broad-shouldered and lean-waisted, his head held high as he gazed straight out of the drawing. He was clothed in leggings and calf-length boots of some supple material that moulded to his muscular limbs. He  
was armed with a long spear and carried a knife hanging at his side in a fringed sheath.  
  
Standing at his side and slightly behind him, stood another man, shorter by half a head, but just as muscular. His clothing the same as his companion; the only difference was a band of some woven material around his left bicep, from which hung three feathers; he was armed with a bow, a sheaf of arrows in a sling over his bare chest, a shorter knife hanging by his side. He had his head half-turned away, looking towards the side, as though keeping watch.  
  
Both men exuded power and strength, and a nobility not even the age of the paper could deny.  
  
Sentinel and Guide.  
Respected Guardians of the tribe.  
  
Blair sighed, and put down the book, setting it on the grass beside him, then took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes.  One of these days, he would find one of these guardians; his dream would become a reality.

He often fantasized that he would be the guide, a true partner of the sentinel, living and working together, watching out for each other, protecting ....  
  
"Sandburg!"

The loud cry jolted Blair out of his doze and his dream collapsed.  Gone were the sunny grounds of Rainier, now it was the cold, grey concrete of a back alley, filthy and stinking of refuse; instead of a rare book, he held a gun in one shaking hand, the other was pressed tightly to his side where pain flared as he remembered where he was, who he was.

No longer a teacher, he was a cop; no longer wielding a text book, but a gun; no longer hanging out with other teachers and students, having lively conversations  
about ancient cultures and expeditions; now he attended briefings with other detectives, about open cases involving robbery and murder, each day leaving a little of his former self behind.

Now, he was sitting huddled against wet concrete, the chill seeping through his bones as he shuddered in his damp clothes, trying to stem the blood from the  
wound in his side with ever weakening fingers.

"Chief! Blair, you still with me?"

Oh, thank God! Jim!  His partner and friend.

Jim's voice sounded a long way off, though, hope he's okay. He tried to reply, but his throat was clogged - whether with tears of regret, or of pain, he wasn't quite sure; both equally agonising. 

A pity he couldn't talk, he'd have liked to answer Jim, tell him he was still here, would always be here, if he could, but he wasn't sure, so maybe it was just as well.  
It was a shame he would never know the feeling of truly belonging to a tribe, being a respected guide to a great sentinel, that would've been really ... really ... cool ...  
As consciousness started to fade, Blair tried to reach out to his partner, but the gun weighed him down and his hand fell limply beside him, the weapon  
dropping with a metal clang on concrete.  
  
He heard a loud roar of pain and anger, then felt strong, but gentle hands holding him, half lifting him against a solid frame that promised warmth and safety, and for a brief moment, Blair knew how the ancient sentinel and guide felt, it was strangely comforting, and his lips curved in a faint smile.  
  
"Thank you..." the whisper barely heard even by sentinel ears, then he sighed and relaxed, letting himself drift away on the cloud that was hovering over him.  
\- - - - - - -

To be continued in Not a Dream ...

  
Dusty Tyree  
(c) April 2010  
  



End file.
